Shanghai Nostalgia Chapters 7 – 9

CHAPTER 7

Nothing, but nothing beats the excitement of that first time. It opens up a world of discovery. F. Gump said something ‘bout chocolates and how you never know what you’re gonna get. Exactly the reason why I love new conquests,
or in this case, purchase, transaction or whatever you choose to call it. I have a feeling underneath the covers, this box of chocolates is going to be a very pleasant surprise.

She was trembling slightly hitting the cold covers just after a hot shower. I solved the problem by giving her a bear hug, wrapping my legs round her slender body. Slowly she warmed and turned up to snuggle against my neck. My cock started
to defrost and began rearing up against her abdomen. I shifted myself to kiss her and we began a small skirmish which grew to a raging no-holds bar battle. I left a trail of saliva down her neck, along the swell of her breast to envelope her nipple,
engorged and extended. I flicked at it with my tongue, I rolled it. First the left nip, then the right. I nibbled to test its ‘bounce’, I teased by licking the areola, careful to avoid the nipple, until she grabbed my hair to redirect
my mouth back to its rightful place, all the while moaning as if in agony. Some girls liked having their nipples bitten painfully, but I avoid this unless so prompted.

Further down her legs were pushing, lifting her buttocks up from the bed, alternating with rubbing her thighs together. She was hot and very bothered. I shifted again and trailed my tongue southwards, enjoying the youthful blemish free skin.
Her hips rose in anticipation but she kept her thighs together. Just as I suspected, a novice. We’ll see how long you keep that closed. I lingered a while at her navel, although not an erogenous zone, she might enjoy the distraction. She
squirmed and giggled at the tickling and I continued my pilgrimage, until I encountered a tiny turf of hair finer than the down of a duck. The static her body absorbed from the beddings made them stand up and all frizzy, I smoothed them down with
my face. She still kept them closed so I continue kissing ever so softly down her thigh, while my hand crept up to her honeypot. My mouth removed and no longer an alien intrusion, her thighs relaxed and my fingers went in for the kill. Oh my,
it was so wet there was a small damp patch on the bed sheet. The moon was just bright enough to see the glistening. I sat myself next to her, facing her legs and proceeded to softly finger her clitoris, eliciting soft and at times loud moans from
her; her head moving to one side, then to the other. She was besides herself now, the sweet agony down there was all she was aware of. Her thighs were now spread as far as they can stretch. She did not notice as I bend forward towards her honeypot
with my tongue at the ready. At first lick, her hips shot up and got my face wet with her sweet juice. If she had any more misgivings about having her pussy licked, she did not object now. Her moans went a notch or two up the scale, her breathing
heavier and more labored. I want to bring her just to the edge then let her down slowly, a few times before I’ll let her come, but it’s hard to tell with some women because unlike men, their coming mechanism’s a little different
from us. Men come with a final explosive climax and all goes limp, women can continue with several climaxes with no obvious symptoms. So if I were to succeed, it would pay to err on the side of prudence.

This game when on and I felt a dull ache in my balls, my loins sought and demanded release. She beat my back in frustrations every time she was let down. Patience, I whispered to her, patience. I stretched my hand under the pillow to retrieve
my condom. Kneeling between her legs, condom firmly in place, I held my hard-on like a baton, leaned forward and massaged her clit up and down and with a circular movement until even I could not stand it any more and slammed it in effortlessly.
Within a few strokes she picked up the tempo, her tortured breath loud in my ear, and dictating the speed with her hands round my neck. ‘Bao bei! BAO BEI!’ she cried. And I came, strong, spurts after spurts. And drifted off to a
deep dreamless darkness.

CHAPTER 8

I woke up when she snuggled closer under the covers. I peered down at her. She’s so childlike asleep, innocent, not a care and so oblivious to worries of the world. Up close, under the soft light of the early morning she’s even
more beautiful than I had envisaged. Her thighs were up against me and I felt a stirring down there. I also felt a need to empty my bladder.

Moving ever so slowly, I disengaged myself careful not to make any sudden movement that might wake her. Although slightly reeling from the effects of last night’s alcohol, the combination of a full bladder and the proximity of a comely
sperm depository inevitably led to a raging hard-on. By the time I got to the toilet, the effort and the chill has taken its toll and my turgescence subsided somewhat and a smooth flow of pee followed. Women probably don’t realize how messy
it gets pissing with a hard-on, it jets out in spurts and almost never hit its target. It’s almost comical, a grown man peeing with a woody.

I brushed my teeth to get rid of that ‘morning mouth’ and flossed as I always do. The aroma of sex still lingered in the air and that prompted a gnawing desire in my loins. I took the opportunity to shower to rid the last remnants
of the alcohol haze and also see to it she gets a fresh clean cock for breakfast. Never waste a hard-on, they say.

I stood over still asleep body, curled up fetus-like. If she’d her thumb in her mouth, she’d resemble a prepubescent teen, so angelic. Memories of last night’s passion, her tormented groans and her uninhibited succumbing
to the pleasures, it’s hard to relate that to this waif-like beauty on my bed. I got in under the covers, slipped a hand between the gap at her neck and laid spoon fashioned with warm back against me. My cock reared and I felt a drop of
lub-juice marking a trail on her firm cheek. I was hoping she would waken but then realized the futility in my wishful thinking. All save one of my previous dalliances with girls I knew from KTV’s slept late into the morning. Resigned to
the realization, I nevertheless remained in this position, motionless, listening to her soft breathings, enjoying the smell of her hair. I could wish, can’t I?

I stayed that way until the numbness in my hand turns a dull ache. I dragged my senseless hand carefully from beneath her, careful not to wake her up. I dressed up and left the apartment.

The sun was not completely up yet but the neighborhood exercise and dance group was already in full gear, dancing with Chinese fans to music from a portable player. You see these dance troupes in every city, in parks, outside shopping complexes,
usually in the early morning or at sunsets, dancing to music ranging from classical, Chinese orchestra, country western to rock n roll; with fans, swords, twirling ribbons; dressed in costumes and even pajamas. It’s a sight and I take time
to enjoy watching from the sides on occasions and had even been invited to join in a couple of times.

I greeted the minder with a ‘Zhao!’ and he returned the greeting ‘You are up early today’. I certainly am. Sundays’ normally the day I do my laundry and housekeeping and I don’t get out until noon
for lunch.

Today the role of the minders is reduced to janitors. They keep the surroundings clean, they monitor security and perform general maintenance tasks. In the old days, the minders were a feared lot. They spied and reported on residents with
suspected bourgeois outlooks or anti-proletarians leanings. I wonder what they think of foreigners, and there are quite a few living in this estate, mainly Caucasians, and our ‘immoral’ activities. I’d slip a carton of cheap
Chinese cigarettes to them once in a while. That helped me in admitting female visitors in the dead of night with no awkward questions asked and they always give me knowing smiles when they see me escorting a girl off in the morning.

I walked a purposeful pace to the wet market round the corner to surprise the sleeping beauty with lunch. Life is indeed good.

CHAPTER 9

Not only is this market my favorite for its wide variety of fresh produce and relative cleanliness, it also has one of the best seafood stall this side of Pudong, with a wide selection of oceanic produce. Despite relative proximity to the
sea, the natives have a preference for fresh water fish, like carps, perches and eels. Seafood lovers like me do better to stay down South in Fujian or Guangdong. Nevertheless, this stall includes a variety of shellfish like oysters, mussels,
baby abalones, many kinds of clams, geoducks and the occasional live blue swimmer crabs. These oysters, large as a man’s palm, harvested from beds off the shores of weat Guangdong, are way too big and chewy to be succulent. I prefer mine
smaller, they’re juicier that way, much like the French Belons. I avoid the mussels not because it has been banned from import to the US but because it can’t measure up to the New Zealand greens. I am impartial to clams but do occasionally
enjoy them sauté with a glass or 2 of a crisp Chardonay and a pinch of basil, or done the Chinese way with garlic and fermented black beans. My favorites here has to be the geoducks (although midgets compared to the Canadian’s) and
baby abalones, tenderized with milk and eaten raw as sashimi with a squeeze of lemon. Excuse me while I swallow my saliva.

It also sells hairy crabs throughout the year. I often felt these fresh water crabs highly overrated, even when they’re in season. They are skinny, troublesome to eat, and the roe just can’t measure up to the muddies in season;
cooked ‘al dante’ with a splash of cognac, IMHO, they are creamier, smoother and way tastier than foie gras. Aficionados will beg otherwise and I’d love to hear their sorry excuses for eating these overpriced crustaceans.

For today’s lunch, I thought seafood be good to tickle her palate, but mindful of her Xinjiang upbringing, perhaps it’ll be a good idea if everything is sliced thinly and added at the last minute to lend the rich flavors to
a rice porridge, It won’t be too alien for her, unless, touch wood, she’s allergic to seafood. So I selected a handful of the freshest shrimps, 4 pieces of baby abalone, 2 geoducks which I had the vendor shelled and cleaned, and
a nice fillet of rock cod. I also asked for and given free some fish bones for my stock. Over at the dried food stall, I picked a small fist of dried scallops and a small piece of Yunnan ham to enrich the stock. At the vegetable stall I added
a bunch of cilantro and a piece of ginger and I’m done, no more than RMB40.

As I walked back I passed a barbershop I had patronized a few months before. A girl ran out after me, ‘Da ger, big brother, da ger’ I let her catch up. Why didn’t you visit me? I excuse myself saying I was back home and
spent a little while chatting with her. She invited me in the tiny shop. The other girls must still be sleeping. A girl with curlers in her hair walked out half asleep in her pyjamas, a toothbrush in her mouth, realized I was there, gave a half
shriek, and hurried to the back. I laughed. After a while, I bid her goodbye, promised to call upon her soon and left.

It was now almost 10 and the streets had filled up with traffic and people. It seemed everyone in Shanghai is outdoors in a festive mood, tomorrow’s National Day. With an official population of 15m registered permanent residents, plus
another 3m of floating population, with more than half of them living in urban areas, it is a mother of a city. During the 3 annual extended public holidays, the Chinese New Year or Spring Festival, Labor Day and National Day, the whole population
gets mobilized and it gets more crowded than a 50% off sale at a brothel.

As I pushed the door open I knew the darling was still asleep. I slid the door open to have a peep. She had pushed the cover down to her waist. I could see her pink nipples rising up and down in a steady rhythm, one hand under her head, the
other resting on where I had been. I hesitated, should I jump on her now? Nah, cook your lunch, man.

The dried scallops boiled away in a pot with a piece of smashed ginger while I checked my emails and caught up on the news online. I avoided the only 2 English papers available in Shanghai, the local Shanghai Daily and the national China
Daily, both of which simply has to rank below than the 154th, which says lots about the Straits Times but you know our dear leaders’ universal rebuttals for criticisms, ‘Singapore’s a unique country’. So let’s
move on and the Reporters Without Borders’s a bunch of fucking radicals anyway.

20 minutes later the scallops’ sufficiently soften but had not the life boiled out of it yet. I put in the fish bones for another 10 minutes. Fish tends to turn bitter overcooked. I drained the stock, discarded the bones, threw the
scallops back in and threw in a cup of washed scented Thai short grain rice, stirring to prevent the rice from sticking to the bottom, and reduce the heat to a simmer. Meanwhile I sliced the fish and seasoned it with a pinch of pepper and a squeeze
of lemon, gut and slice the shellfish, not too thin so it’ll have bite, and got back to my surfing.

‘Lao gong’ she called out sleepily from the bedroom. Ah, the darling’s is stirring and just in time. By the time she washed up, lunch will be ready. Let’s see if she’s in the mood for work up an appetite.

Stickman's thoughts:

No comments, suffice to say I am enjoying this.